


A Meeting in the Dark

by LeeBlack



Series: Wolves at Your Door [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23878987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeBlack/pseuds/LeeBlack
Summary: He’d no sooner stepped in the kitchen when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he froze in place, having gotten the crash course on being able to tell when an apex predator was watching him.“If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with,” he said, with a bravado he most certainly did not feel.The back door opened enough for someone to slip inside and close it, flipping the deadbolt shut.“You should keep this locked. Beacon Hills isn’t as safe as it used to be,” came the response.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Wolves at Your Door [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720972
Comments: 33
Kudos: 1203





	A Meeting in the Dark

The house was dark when he awoke. 

Of course it was. 

His father had been called back to work, this time for a string of burglaries on the other side of Beacon County that would no doubt have him practically living at the station until resolved. 

Stiles had been doing his best to pretend he was asleep, but the muffled crackling of the police scanner hidden under his bed came through clear enough, only to be followed by his father’s thundering footsteps down the stairs. 

He stared up at the ceiling, watching shapes form in the divots of the popcorn ceiling, and wondered how long he was going to be in pain this time. 

Gerard had worked him over surprisingly well for the man’s age, even if he had let him go to ‘deliver a message,’ whatever the hell that meant. As if there was someone he was going to share that message with. 

Hell, he’d been able to brush off the worst of his father’s concerns with an excuse that it was hazing from some members of the opposing lacrosse team, with surprising ease. 

Sighing heavily, he swung his legs to the side of the bed, planting his feet on the floor, and slowly leveraged himself into an upright standing position. One arm came up to wrap around his chest - there had to be at least a few broken ribs there for him to feel quite _this_ bad. 

Frozen peas would probably help. 

He winced and flinched his way into the kitchen, intent on grabbing the frozen peas and collapsing onto the couch until his chest was numb or the peas thawed, whichever came first.

He’d no sooner stepped in the kitchen when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he froze in place, having gotten the crash course on being able to tell when an apex predator was watching him. 

“If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with,” he said, with a bravado he most certainly did not feel. 

The back door opened enough for someone to slip inside and close it, flipping the deadbolt shut. 

“You should keep this locked. Beacon Hills isn’t as safe as it used to be,” came the response. 

Stiles peered at Peter in the dim light. “I thought you were dead.” 

He smirked. “Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” he said. “I smelled your blood and came to make sure you were in one piece.” 

“Creepy,” Stiles muttered under his breath, grip around his chest tightening defensively. “Are you here to kill me? Cause ‘m not in great shape to put up much of a fight right now. Probably the best way for you to get your revenge for me, uh, lighting you on fire,” he said, scrunching his nose as he spoke. 

“You were not the one to ignite the accelerant, little wolf,” Peter said as he approached Stiles slowly. He held his palms up, as if to signify he meant no harm. 

Stiles snorted at the gesture and took a step back. 

“Honestly, Stiles, had I wanted to kill you, I would have done so while you were lying defenseless in your bed, not after having come into your house and announced myself to you,” he said. “How severe are your injuries?” 

“Not bad enough that I need to go to the hospital,” he replied, raising his chin a little bit in challenge and glaring at the older man. “Why do you care, anyway?” 

“I was being entirely honest when I told you I liked you, Stiles,” Peter said. “It would be a shame if such a fine specimen such as yourself were to be damaged beyond repair."

“Again,” Stiles said. “Creepy.” 

“I have my charms,” he replied, perching on the edge of the kitchen table as Stiles resumed his pained shuffle toward the freezer. “Who did this to you?”

“Rival lacrosse team, just like I told my dad.”

“Lie.”

Stiles snapped his head around, glaring at Peter. “It’s not polite to use your superpowers for evil, Lazarus.”

“Nor is it polite to lie to someone asking after your wellbeing, brat,” Peter countered easily, though his tone was mild. “I can offer something much more effective than a bag of frozen peas.” He held up his hand, wiggling clawed fingers. "Works more quickly, too." 

Stiles eyed the man warily, one hand on the handle to the freezer door. “What’s the catch?”

“I can’t be interested in the wellbeing of a promising young man?”

“Not if _I’m_ that young man.”

Peter smirked. “Then I’ll ease your pain in exchange for the names of the parties responsible.”

Stiles hesitated. On the one hand, he didn’t have any interest in delivering Gerard’s message. On the other hand, if any werewolf was to get said message, he was pretty sure he could stomach giving it to Peter. He wouldn’t be one to sit on that without acting.

“Come now, kitten,” Peter crooned, holding out a hand in invitation. “Give me a name. I can be your weapon.”

He scowled and took a small, reluctant step toward the older man. “I don’t need you to be my weapon.”

“Oh, but sweetheart, I’m more than capable,” he said, standing up and stepping closer to Stiles. “No one will trace it back to you,” he said, hand still outstretched.

Stiles offered the man a mirthless smile, wincing when the gesture pulled at his split lip. “You realize that’s not really comforting, right?” he asked.

Peter just hummed. He cocked his head to the side, eyeing the younger man’s facial injuries.

“You’re not going to leave until I tell you, are you?” Stiles asked after another long moment.

“If you’re insistent on handling this yourself, I suppose I won’t object,” he said quietly. “Though I am certainly experienced enough that I can guarantee a resolution without further harm coming to you,” he added.

Stiles nodded. “Gerard Argent,” he bit out.

A low, grumbling rumble bubbled out of Peter’s chest before he could stop it. “They continually prove to be sadistic cockroaches,” he murmured, cupping Stiles’ cheek in his palm and beginning to pull the pain. He clenched his jaw to swallow to grunt at the initial shock. There was more than he expected. “Though I am happy to share that that particular cockroach has already been taken care of,” he said.

“The hell do you mean by that?” Stiles asked, unable to stop himself from leaning into the embrace.

“I ripped his throat out as he tried to crawl from the warehouse. No doubt attempting to slither into whatever backup plan he’d devised,” he said. He smirked suddenly, letting his claws slide out just enough to graze against the teenager’s skin. “These very claws ensured that he will not be back to deliver any other sort of bruise upon your body. His head is currently in Christopher's passenger's seat, if you'd like me to take you there and show you?”

Stiles huffed, though tellingly didn’t lean away from the suddenly-sharper hold. “Thanks, I think. Don't need to see a decapitated head, but, you know,” he said, trailing off for a minute. “I mean, it's good to know he's gone, but you are so, _so_ fucking creepy, dude.”

Peter chuckled. “I told you, kitten, I am a more than capable weapon,” he said.

“Kitten?” Stiles asked, scowling at Peter. “Seriously?”

“Well I certainly can’t call you pup, given that you’re almost grown, and I have a feeling you would object rather violently if I called you darling,” he said.

“Damn right I – what do you mean, _almost_ grown?” Stiles asked. “I’m eighteen years old.”

He smirked. “Is that so?”

“Held back a year,” he said. “What exactly is your plan with me, other than taking my pain?”

Peter hummed again. “I haven’t quite decided yet,” he said, shifting closer so he was pressed almost flush against Stiles. “Though I do have several ideas.”

Stiles snorted, his pain apparently faded to a manageable level as he didn't wince. “Of fucking course you do,” he said. “Bet you’re planning on trying to take over the world.”

“Oh, no, pet. Something much more exciting,” he said, smirk going wicked. 

The younger man just snorted again and closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm back. Kind of. Just for this one. Quarantine's been driving me a little bit crazy, and I've had a few ideas bouncing around my brain-hole. Having some writer's block issues on the original-fiction side, so have returned to the wonderful world of Steter.


End file.
